Push and Pull
by Yessica-N
Summary: Some days are better than others for Osomatsu. This is not one of those days. (Part 3 of "Hey, wasn't our exit 10 miles ago?")


**A gift for a tumblr friend. Osomatsu feeling like shit, and Karamatsu trying to help.**

 **WARNINGS: Mention of suicide and mention of self-harm**

* * *

Some days are better than others.

Some days, he can almost pretend like everything is fine. (Though it's not really, is it? It never is.)

But enough to nearly convince himself and definitely enough to convince his brothers, and that's all that matters.

If they think he's okay, then maybe someday he will be, even if that's the biggest load of bull Osomatsu has ever told himself.

He's lying on his back in the middle of the living room, trying to die.

The last time he was okay was probably back in those lost days of scraped knees and childish laughter, when words like individuality and identity were as strange to them as the thought of ever having to make money.

When it was still fine to be one of six, and not himself.

But instead there came a time, notoriously known as puberty, when they were forced to confront who they were besides just 'a Matsuno sextuplet' and Osomatsu could still feel his heartbeat hammering in his chest at the thought.

The overwhelming fear that, maybe, he would look inside himself and find that he is not the kind of person he thought he'd be. Not the kind of person people like.

Not even the kind of person he himself likes.

All of these things he considered, hands clammy and feet unsteady, not even entertaining the possibility of something infinitely worse.

Something terrible that has left him devoid ever since.

Osomatsu looked into himself and found nothing.

It's funny how you don't even notice how empty you are until you tear a hole in your own chest, just to be confronted with an aching bareness. Until you cut into your flesh and steal your very breath away, just to be sure that you're still real.

It's warm and he's not wearing his hoody. The scars on his wrists are pale and visible, and if he weren't so damn exhausted he would consider adding some more. It's the middle of the day, anybody could walk in unannounced and they would see.

There is nothing left in Osomatsu to care.

They are broken, the six of them. Defective and cracked, so much so that all of them combined wouldn't even form one functional adult.

So they stumble on, tied to despair and tied to each other, which might just be the exact same thing, and trying not to crumble completely. Somehow keeping each other upright and destroying each other at the same time.

But they pull and pull, and with each movement Osomatsu can feel it in his blood. They can be whole without him. They are what keep him here and they will leave.

Osomatsu will make sure to leave as well. He's had the plans since he was 15 now. Only the execution is left.

The shoji slides open. Osomatsu still has his eyes closed, trying to get lost in the darkness behind his lids and never come back, so he doesn't see who enters.

The lack of freak-out over his current state only leaves one possibility anyway.

"It's like this again?" Karamatsu asks him, and he's shuffling around the room on bare feet, doing something in the corner. Osomatsu opts to ignore him, as is par of the course for them.

He thinks that maybe if he tries hard enough, he can disappear completely.

He is nothing anyway. Only the eldest brother, the dependable leader. He has not been needed for years now, and soon he'll fade. Without them, there will be nothing of him left.

I am them and they are me, right?

A sardonic laugh escapes him. What was once a stupid joke, now leaves a bitter taste in his mind.

Karamatsu crosses the room again, but stops this time, right besides where the elder's head is resting. Osomatsu wonders if he will sit down next to him, like they've done some times before.

His brother's company is like a tiny plaster on a gaping wound. It does little to stop the bleeding, but it's good to know it's there.

But instead, there is a tugging at his arm.

"Come on, we're going out." Karamatsu is trying to get him in a half-decent position, not an easy task seeing as they're about the same size and built.

Osomatsu lets him struggle for a bit, body completely slack. Maybe this show of brotherly concern should fill him with a surge of appreciation and love, but he's still empty.

His brother sighs, sounding far beyond his years for a moment there. His arm is released and Osomatsu falls back, the tight feeling around his heart suddenly constricting.

Karamatsu is going to leave. He's going to go out by himself, do whatever painful thing it is he was planning to do in the first place, and leave Osomatsu to sulk on his own.

Pushing them away hurts so much less than them abandoning him. It still hurts so much he can barely breath.

Then, there is a grip around his ankle and this is a force he can't fight, getting pulled like a limp sack of potatoes across the floor. If he wasn't feeling so dead on the inside, Osomatsu might giggle.

"What are you-" He starts, trying to kick at Karamatsu's arm but missing completely.

His brother looks at him with a smile that says more than any words. "We're going out." He repeats unperturbed.

Osomatsu opens his mouth, disconcertingly dry. He wants to protest. He's tired and hollow and just so, so done with everything.

But his head hurts and something in Karamatsu's eyes dares him to oppose, authoritative and concerned.

Osomatsu wonders if this is what it's supposed to be like to have an older brother?

The thought makes him want to puke.

"Alright, whatever." He grumbles around the bile rising in his throat.

Dying will simply have to wait.

* * *

The sun is bearing down on them hard, unpleasantly. There is too much light and too much noise and Osomatsu will have to revise his plan.

He might just die right here and now after all.

He watches vacantly as two little boys run past their bench, the one in the front yelling excitingly. The smaller child, supposedly a brother judging by their similar looks, follows meekly.

"Why are we here?" he asks, and his own voice frightens him. It is flat, trembling in a way that does not betray emotion, but rather the lack thereof.

Karamatsu doesn't answer. He's actually too busy eyeing up a couple of girls a little distance away, and for a second Osomatsu considers throttling him.

He breathes deep instead, the fresh air at least helping to clear his head and reduce the insistent pounding.

He's gripping the edges of their seat tightly, fingers rubbing into age-worn wood, and if he angles them just right, it actually hurts, uneven splinters poking into the pads of his thumbs.

He presses until he feels blood well up, slick and familiar and comforting.

"Don't." Karamatsu says, laying his hand on Osomatsu's wrist gently. It's more a plea than an actual demand, but the firstborn relaxes slightly.

He can feel his heart hammering away again.

Somehow everything has become slightly blurry, and he blinks ferociously, trying to figure out if it are tears fucking up his vision.

The two boys have commandeered the local swing set and seem to be testing its limits. The younger of the two is demanding their brother to push him higher, which the other obeys, grin fixed firmly in place.

They are happy and lively and probably can't imagine what it's like to ever be apart.

Something inside Osomatsu feels like it's breaking.

This time he's sure there are tears building in his eyes, and his breath hitches unpleasantly.

Karamatsu leans against him, a comfortable weight pushing against his side. "You ok?" His brother asks, uncharacteristically quiet.

"No." He answers truthfully, automatic denial lost somewhere along the way. "I'm not."

Tears roll down his cheeks, but Osomatsu is smiling.

Even if it's only for a little while, he doesn't feel as empty anymore.

* * *

 **Find me on tumblr: sharada-n**


End file.
